


A Work in Progress

by seiden_spinner



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, RK900's name is Nine because of reasons, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 16:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16021529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seiden_spinner/pseuds/seiden_spinner
Summary: Gavin's got certain issues a faster, stronger, and more resilient RK model has yet to discover.





	A Work in Progress

**Author's Note:**

> Okaaay, here's a little something for those two. It's kind of an ongoing thing, so don't be shy to drop a line!
> 
> I hope you enjoy the reading!

Point of fact: RK-900 model is equipped with the latest technologies that do not fail. Also point of fact: the latest technologies do not fail, unless one wants them to.

Broken grid lines of Nine’s Mind Palace tell the story of want.

A stash of blue blood pouches next to the stash of marshmallows, gumdrops, and pop candies in the kitchen cupboard tells the story of want.

Stickers on the hallway mirror – _‘When in doubt, default to Latin’, ‘Good fuckin’ morning’, ‘Coffee != breakfast’, ‘In English fuckin’ please’_ in two different handwritings – tell the story of want.

Both the kitchen and the hallway belong to one detective Reed and tell the story of want as well.

Correction: occasionally the latest technologies fail even when no one wants them to.

As of today, the folder named ‘G. R.’ contains an array of personal data pieces, including but not limited to the records of chain smoking, sporadic uncontrolled drinking, caffeine abuse, circadian dysregulation, unhealthy diet, BMI=26.0 a.k.a overweight, etc. However, analysing the said array over and over does not result in an adequate answer to the question that has been bothering Nine for several months now. Simpler techniques generally referred to as ‘Yes/No questions’ seem to be failing as well.

Start the sequence.

Do they spend a significant amount of time together? Yes. Does Gavin ( _male given name, origin: Celtic/Welsh, see also:_ _Gawain_ ) mind being called just so? No. Do they share a household? No. Do they make attempts at cohabitation? Yes. Do those attempts resemble some male variation on Boston marriage? Yes. Does that bother Nine? Yes. Would he like to show Gavin his appreciation in ways more intimate than blanket tugging, hair ruffling, and almost non-existent temple kissing? Yes. Would Gavin enjoy that? Fuckin’ yes. Would Gavin allow him? Fuckin’ no. Why in hell would he not? There is no answer to that.

Sequence over.

Correction [2]: the latest technologies fail more often than just occasionally and generally suck.

Note to self: rephrase the questions and run the sequence one more time later. Also, maybe switch the swear filter back on.

Despite not being the reason why a faster, stronger, and more resilient RK model shared the same fate as its predecessor and became a deviant, Gavin was there when it happened. _And it’s glorious how it came down_ , a rich male voice, backed by violins, drums, and chime-bells, starts singing in his head. Nine does not disagree.

He remembers the thrill – _the thrill_ – of chase after a suspect. He remembers himself shouting in a language that definitely wasn’t English ( _see: RK-900 enhanced Language module_ ); it wasn’t the suspect’s mother tongue and there was no real need to use it, but it _felt right_. So he went on with shouting and chasing both the suspect and that feeling, and the alarm-red digital wall shattered into countless pieces when he collided with it.

And then there was Gavin (or, to be precise, detective Reed at that time), who handcuffed the apprehended suspect and breathed out the sacramental words of ‘ _In English… fuckin’... please_ ’, followed by the less sacramental words of ‘ _Your lightbulb… gone… nuts… the fuck… it’s… red._ ’

‘I’ve just called in a patrol vehicle,’ Nine said, watching the floating blue lines where the neat grid of his Mind Palace used to be.

‘We’re not done yet,’ detective Reed responded, squinting suspiciously as if he could see the floating lines as well.

Turns out, the man was more right than he knew.

They weren’t done when the unsanctioned christening took place ( _‘Guess we’re real partners now, tin can. Nah, that sucks, I don’t wanna be partners with a tin can. You need a name. I’m calling you Nine, got it?’ ‘Got it, detective.’_ )

They weren’t done when captain Fowler spoke highly of their performance as a team; it was also the first time in years anyone spoke highly of Gavin’s performance at all.

They were so very far from being done when he visited Gavin having a cold at home ( _‘I warned you about the risks of smoking in the snow without your jacket on, detective.’ ‘Does this look like a fuckin’ precinct to you?’ ‘It most certainly does not, and to be honest, I’m failing to see what you’re driving at.’ ‘To hell with your ‘detective’, that’s what I’m driving at. I’ve got a name, for fuck’s sake! Would it kill you to just call me by it?’ ‘I warned you about the risks of smoking in the snow without your jacket on, Gavin.’ ‘Now we’re talking. Also: screw you and your warnings.’)_

They definitely weren’t done the night he got Gavin, dead tired, yet sleepless, home from the precinct. He was about to leave when the man grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, blurted out, ‘Stay’, and then added with studied indifference, ‘I’m not gonna sleep anyway, might as well have some fun with it.’ He stayed. They installed themselves on the couch and talked about the case they were working on, until Gavin’s fatigue finally took over and the man dozed off, his head resting on Nine’s shoulder.

And then there was another sleepless night, when Gavin spent thirty seven minutes and fourteen seconds smoking on the porch of his house, alone, returned inside, and said, point blank, ‘In that alley back then… It wasn’t calling in the patrol car, was it?’ ‘No, it wasn’t’, Nine answered because there was no use denying it, and continued, trying to sound calm, ‘Are we done now, detective?’ ‘I’ve got a name, dumbass,’ the man murmured, plopping down on the couch next to him. It was answer enough.

And so it went on. The first pouch of blue blood in the kitchen cupboard. The first sticker on the mirror. The first time he ran his fingers through Gavin’s hair and the man leaned slightly into the touch instead of swatting his hand away. The first good-night kiss on the temple. Little things, human things, happening here and there, until one day it all went into some sort of stasis. Nothing was lost, yet there were no more steps forward – Gavin held fast to that.

Of course, Nine tried talking to him. Did it yield results? Yes. Were those results satisfactory? Depends on what one means by a satisfactory result. If it’s obtaining knowledge of the fact that your partner is really into talking about anything and everything except his personal issues, then yes, those results were indeed satisfactory. The said obtaining, however, took the form of going hand-to-hand (needless to say, it was Gavin who threw the first punch), breaking the kitchen table in the process, and then taking the man to the hospital with a dislocated shoulder and a mild concussion. He hasn’t tried asking Gavin about his personal issues ever since.

_Incoming message_ , his systems signal, bringing Nine back to reality _. Secure line, G.R._

He decodes it in no time. And for a good reason, he thinks a second later.

‘Hey kid,’ the message says. ‘It’s Hank. Ran across your guy at the Jimmy’s. Come pick him up, he’s drunk as fuck.’

‘On my way,’ Nine transmits back. ‘Apologies, Lieutenant.’

‘No prob,’ comes the answer. ‘Just hurry up, I can’t take his rambling anymore.’

You bet, he thinks wistfully as he calls in a taxi.

When he arrives to the bar, both Hank and Gavin are standing outside. Correction [3]: Hank is the only one standing; Gavin’s state can be described as being propped up against the wall at best. Quick scanning and analysis indicate heavy inebriation and nicotine intoxication; it’s going to be a Hair Holding Night, it seems.

‘See?’ Hank says as he separates Gavin and the wall and hands the man over to Nine. ‘A total hot mess.’

‘You’re right,’ the android replies, grabbing his partner by the waist. ‘Thank you for keeping an eye on him, Lieutenant.’

‘Thanks for ridding me of him and saving my night,’ Hank says with zero spite, pulling the bar door.

Before the door closes behind the man, Nine manages to catch a glimpse of a figure clad in a familiar black CyberLife jacket, standing by the counter. That’s how it is, then.

‘Hot mess,’ Gavin mumbles suddenly, looking, however slantwise, in the same direction. ‘Says who?’

‘Lieutenant Anderson’s got a point, though,’ Nine says. ‘Right now you are a mess.’

‘Unlike you, huh?’ The man retorts, turning to face Nine as abruptly as his vestibular system allows him to. His breath smells of cheap whiskey and just as cheap cigarettes, yet somehow it’s not repulsive at all. ‘You think you’re so great. Fuckin’ perfection.’

‘That’s not true and you know it, Gavin,’ the android says. ‘Were I perfect, I’d be reporting you right now. Instead, I’m taking you home. No reports. Now please get in the car.’

Gavin stares at him for a solid moment, his eyes wide, and then wholeheartedly says, ‘Fuck you.’

‘Be my guest,’ Nine replies in the same tone and shoves Gavin in the back seat while the man processes his response.

By the time they reach home, Gavin’s complexion turns greenish; as far as Nine can tell, it’s the signal that the clock is ticking and he must act quickly. The latest technologies a faster, stronger, and more resilient RK model is equipped with better not fail him now.

They head straight to the bathroom. Correction [4]: he heads straight to the bathroom, carrying Gavin in his arms; it’s faster that way and far more efficient than dragging him along.

‘Thanks for cooperation,’ Nine says with zero sarcasm in his voice. He expected his partner to give him as much hell as the man could find it in himself because that’s what Gavin usually does, yet somehow it’s not the case, and for that he’s truly grateful. Gavin stirs a little in his arms but that’s about it.

‘Wait… outside,’ Gavin breathes out as soon as he sits on the tiled bathroom floor in a messy heap, leaning on the toilet.

‘I’d rather not,’ the android counters. ‘I get your craving for privacy, but considering your alcohol level, chances are you pass out any minute now. I’d rather be here when it happens. One concussion from hitting your head on the floor is more than enough. Besides, who’s going to hold your hair?’

‘Ah, fuck it,’ the man says in a thick and defeated voice. ‘Look the other way… at least.’

‘ _Bene_ ,’ Nine replies after a momentary pause, leans down, and runs his hand through the shock of Gavin’s hair to get a good grip on it.

‘In English fu–’

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence – it is then when the metaphorical clock strikes its metaphorical midnight. Nine, as promised, looks the other way.

‘You’re not gonna watch me showering,’ Gavin says much later when he’s done washing his face and mouth.

‘Quite the contrary,’ the android replies, his eyes fixed on the man. ‘Losing consciousness is less probable for you now, I admit that, but your chances against a wet and slippery surface are still slim.’

‘I wasn’t asking.’

Instead of answering, Nine takes his jacket off; the turtleneck follows in less than two seconds. He folds them neatly and places them on the shelf.

‘The fuck are you doing?’ the man says tensely as he reflexively takes a step back. This time it’s definitely a question.

‘I might have to catch you in case you slip in the shower, and I don’t want to get my clothes wet. Simple as that.’

‘Fuckin’ shameless,’ Gavin snarls, turning his back on his android partner. His leather jacket and sweater hit the floor in a manner of distorted reflection of what Nine did a moment ago.

‘That’s correct,’ Nine replies, watching the scarred back. This is the first time ever, it suddenly occurs to him, that he sees his partner even partially undressed. The experience seems to be quite… destabilizing; nothing he can’t manage, though.

‘Shame is a human concept, Gavin. It requires an authority figure, imaginary or real, one fears to disappoint or displease. As an android I, for one–’

Abruptly he falls silent as the crucial piece of data lands in the folder saved exclusively for a certain detective of Detroit Police. Analytical module gets to work immediately and without nudging.

Chain smoking.

Caffeine abuse.

Uncontrolled drinking.

Unhealthy diet.

Lack of physical activity.

Aggressive behaviour.

Circadian dysregulation.

BMI=26.0.

Layers and layers and layers of clothing.

‘ _Fuckin’ perfection.’_

‘ _Fuckin’ shameless.’_

[Would Gavin enjoy that? Fuckin’ yes. Would Gavin allow him? Fuckin’ no. Why in hell would he not? There is no answ–]

_REPHRASE_ , his systems scream in a flurry of digital signals. _REPHRASE_.

[Would he make sure that anything he does is safe and pleasant for Gavin? Yes. Yes, he would. Would Gavin allow himself to enjoy that? No. No, he would not. Why? The same reason he’d rather cover the mirror with stickers than look in it. The same reason he’d only show his skin while being drunk and angry. The same reason he’d compare himself to what, by design, was merely a human-like machine, judge himself, and find himself wanting. He’s been acting like a human, a trueborn human, and shame and insecurity were indeed human concepts.]

Nine takes a few steps back, retrieves his clothes, puts the turtleneck on, and heads for the exit. A few moments later he returns with Gavin’s fresh homewear.

‘Your clothes are on the shelf,’ he says, taking one last glimpse at his partner’s back. ‘I’ll be just on the other side of this door. Please call me if you need any help.’

Gavin says nothing.

The door closes behind Nine with a click.

**Author's Note:**

> 'And it’s glorious how it came down' is a quote from the song "How It Came Down" by Folly & The Hunter.


End file.
